What can one really write about oneself without teetering on the edge of pomposity? I am an artist. One who strives to be a great artist. But what is art? Perhaps, poetry in a discolored leaf over the crack of a sidewalk. Perhaps, an abandoned and faded school bus, parked in some forsaken field. Perhaps, watching a woman's hair rise and fall in the wind. Can anyone define art? The experts define it is as the imitation of life. Maybe. Maybe, not. I can only speak for my art. In my art, I seek to imitate life, but through my subjective experience. Therefore, I would like to call myself an expressionist. I color my canvas from my subconscious. My canvas is me.
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